“People talk about us in mere tragedy,
as if all we did was hurt
and crack
and break
until time crystallized
and we slept a hundred years. But all I remember are crow’s feet at the corner of your eyes
and laugh lines that feel like the gravity of the universe. And I loved you.
I remember how much
I unfathomably loved you. People talk about us in mere tragedy,
but infrequent are tragedies
that do not have
a speck of hope,
a dreg of happiness,
a split-second joy. Many times
we were tragic. But many times
we were happy too.”
Tumblr staff: ten options is enough for polls, right? No one needs more than that on a regular basis. The average tumblr user: Hey guys which element of the periodic table do you think is the most fuckable?
and very, very often, self care is not plants and ice rollers and fluffy blankets of peace.
it’s standing over your kitchen sink and crying while doing the dishes because you just want to go back to bed but the dishes need done. and you don’t know why you’re crying but you’re trusting you need it. and you aren’t listening to the music that pulls you into a spiral; you’re listening to some cheerful shit your friend sent you. it’s getting up and staring at your fridge and closing your eyes and then cooking yourself food even though you hate it and it’s miserable. because you know that you’d cook for your friend, and you are trying to befriend yourself. it’s dragging yourself into the shower because you know you’ll feel better afterwards. it’s doing mundane tasks with patience, cursing under your breath, trying desperately to give yourself grace. grace is the beginning of care. care is the beginning of love.
we think it’s supposed to be peace and yet the most powerful self care moments are when we hate everything but especially ourselves. and life does not feel worth the loving. to look into that pain and yet choose to care for yourself in however many pieces you are — that is care. love. grace. trust. belief. it hurts because it’s love where there was no love before. it heals because it believes there will be love, one day, soon.
nobody ever praises me or pats me on the head or feeds me small treats despite my consistent excellence in the field of not purposefully ripping cabinet doors off their hinges to fulfill some sort of maladaptive destructive urge
